


The Advantages of Spending Christmas in Spain

by likeadeuce



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/pseuds/likeadeuce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After last year's incident involving your Uncle Lucius and the punch bowl," Wesley said, "Father has declared his home to be a Malfoy-free zone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Advantages of Spending Christmas in Spain

A not-very-new Bentley pulled up into the courtyard of the forbidding stone house. It had to squeeze between a snowbank and the back ends several dozen larger, pricier vehicles – vehicles belonging to people who were not forty minutes late for the party that was already going full-swing inside. The driver came to a stop, flipped on the interior light, and tilted down the rear view mirror to check the dimple on the full Windsor knot in his red silk tie. He then pulled out a comb and went to work on the very few hairs straying from his otherwise flawless coif.

"God, Wesley, you just did that." His passenger jerked open her door and stepped out onto the icy drive. Immediately, two large greyhounds came bounding toward her, barking at an explosive volume. The woman reached into her leather jacket, pulled out what looked like a long thin stick and pointed it at the animals. "_Silencio!_" she called. The barking stopped but the dogs kept running, and she cried "_Impedimenta!_" – at which point, the two hounds jerked to a stop and seemed to roll over their own feet onto the ground.

"Nymphadora!" cried Wesley, jumping from the car. "I've asked you _repeatedly_ not to use spells on other people's pets! Particularly. . ." The animals were starting to rise, and the man pointed at them in turn, and said sternly, "Sylvie! Bruno!" Then he made a sound that seemed to combine a growl, a whine, and a series of clicks. The dogs immediately dropped to their bellies and, when Wesley rounded the car, they groveled toward him, whimpering. "Good girl," he said, rubbing Sylvie's ears. "Good boy," to Bruno. "Now –" He pointed toward the carriage house and made a new series of sounds. The dogs bounded away. "See?" Wesley said, rubbing his hands together. "That was easily handled."

Nymphadora set hands on her hips and glared up at her companion. "_How_ was that different than what I did?"

"That wasn't a spell," Wesley answered. "I simply spoke a few simple commands." He paused. "In the language of the Fyarl demon."

"Right. Because plain English would be too normal for a Wyndam-Pryce."

"My father hardly wants just anyone to be able to speak to his dogs. Besides, darling," Then his mouth and eyes softened into a smile, as he looked from her spikey purple hair, over the leather biker coat, down to her red dress and Italian leather boots. "You are hardly one to talk about normal."

"You've got a point," said Nymphadora Tonks. She reached out for Wesley's hand, raised it to her forehead, and ran his fingers up the violet spikes of her hair. By the time his hand came down again, he was touching rich chestnut locks that flowed to her shoulder. "Better?" she asked. "Or should I be a redhead tonight?"

"No." Wesley Wyndam-Pryce stepped closer and put his hands on her back, where the leather jacket had been replaced by a black cashmere shawl. Pulling her into a kiss, he murmured, "This will do very well."

Tonks savored the warmth of the kiss for a moment, then gently released him and teased, "I thought you liked me purple."

"I do, Nymphadora," he said reverently. "Only. . ." He stepped back, offered her his arm, and nodded toward the house. "We should go inside." Once he got into that purposeful stride – the Watcher Walk, trademark, was how Tonks thought of it – she had to skip to keep up with his long legs. He spoke now with forced lightness. "I'm afraid with this lot, someone would mistake you for a Smurtash demon and attempt to slay you."

"What is about you people and _slaying_ everything?" Tonks demanded. "My mother had a pet Smurtash for years and the worst it ever did was chew every other sock out of the dryer – which happens enough on its own, anyway." She skipped ahead of him, kicking snow out of her way. "And for God's sake, you have to stop with the 'Nymphadora.' Nobody calls me anything but Tonks."

"I understand your feelings on the subject, darling, only, you know – it's rather difficult for me call someone by their surname when I am –" He looked at her full on for a moment, then flushed and looked down. "On intimate terms with the person. It reminds me a bit too much of being back at a boys' public school."

"Do me a favor, Wes and never, ever expand on that thought."

"The bit with the surnames, I mean," he said hastily. "For instance." He brought a hand to her cheek. "I'd feel very odd if you called me Pryce."

"Your mother didn't name you Nymphadora." She ducked away from him and mounted the broad stone steps of the house. Neither the choral music playing loudly inside, nor the holly and pine branches over the door did much to conceal the house's forbidding exterior, which was light years from Ted and Andromeda Tonks' cozy bungalow in the suburbs of London.

Wesley pulled the bellrope, and raised his hand to his tie once again. Tonks couldn't stand it. She reached up and pulled his perfect Windsor slightly askew, half flipped up his collar, and swirled her hand around to muss his hair. "Why --?" Wesley demanded, aghast. He leaned down toward her and said, in a forceful, clipped tone, "It is one thing to come forty minutes late to my parents' Christmas party because we were just –" He made a humming sound that was apparently supposed to stand for 'you know,' which was apparently meant to signify 'pulling off the road to shag in the car' – "But it's another thing to show up _looking_ like we just –"

And Wesley looked so indignant and so utterly at a loss for words to describe what he had just managed to do so very well, that Tonks had no choice but to put her arms around his shoulders. "To the contrary," she said, mimicking his very proper diction, then in the London accent she'd gotten from her father, "It's the only reason to come forty minutes late." And any more objections he might have had were buried by her kiss.

The door creaked open to the sound of a clearing throat. "Sorry, Stevens," Wesley began. Without looking up, he reached for Tonks' wrap and started to hand it to the figure at the door, whom he belatedly recognized as – "Mother?" Wesley choked, and his hand desperately returned to his tie. His face reddened. "I'm so sorry, I assumed –" Now half-explaining to Tonks. "I expected the butler."

Caroline Wyndam-Pryce took Tonks' shawl from Wesley and held it with two fingers, at a distance, as though it might drip something onto her elegant black dress. She was a tall, imposing woman, with broad shoulders and a profile that looked like it belonged on the coinage of some faded empire. "Stevens," she said, "is in the process of ringing the local constabulary in order to request their assistance in determining the whereabouts of my only son." She now looked down her formidable nose at Tonks. "I suppose that we have now discovered the explanation."

"Nym –" Wesley said. "Ton-- She – Forgot a few things at her flat. We had to –"

Caroline looked critically at Wesley's rumpled hair. "Of course." Then she turned and addressed a spot slightly to the left of Tonks. "It's lovely to see you, dear," she said, in a voice that exuded none of the warmth of its words. "I'm sorry, Miss Nympho- what was it?"

Tonks cut Wesley a look as if to say, _That's another reason I don't like the name._ "Tonks," she said simply, offering a hand. "Thank you so much for inviting me into your home."

"Yes, I –" As she spoke, she only looked at Wesley. "I suppose I did do that." Then, abandoning any pretense of speaking to her son's companion, she leaned close to him and murmured, "For the love of God, do something about your hair –" Her eyes flicked down –"And your tie, before you come in. I can only imagine if your father had been the one to answer the door." She shook her head. "Well, I suppose I must go telephone Superintendent Poynton and apologize for allowing my negligent offspring to ruin his Christmas Eve." Without a look back, Caroline floated from the room.

Wesley took a comb from his pocket, went directly to the mirror, and went straight to work on his hair and tie. Tonks came up beside him, stood close and simply stared until he was forced to acknowledge her. "I don't suppose," he said, "that I should take the first of many opportunities to remind you that I wanted to go to Spain for the holidays."

"I don't believe it," said Tonks.

"Oh, please." He replaced the comb, went to work on his Windsor, and said indignantly, "As you remember very well, I found quite a good deal on tickets to Majorca, and, as you must recall, it was you –"

"I don't believe," she said, "that your mother didn't know I was coming."

Wesley stopped, raised a hand to the back of his neck, and looked at his shoes. "Well, clearly, you _do_ believe it or you wouldn't say otherwise in that tone of denial, which suggests–"

"Don't –" she warned, jabbing a finger at him. "Be a linguist at me tonight. You told your mother we broke up."

"Well," he paused, "Dear –" He looked up to see her staring at him in the mirror, so surrendered and turned to face her. "Not to be _linguistic_, but simply to speak the plain truth -- we did."

"In July."

"And at Michelmas. And in October. And over Guy Fawkes' weekend. And – " He spread his hands. "Well, at a certain point, I got worn out with giving Mum the updates. As late as last week, you weren't sure you wanted to come with me, and so I suppose I thought two awkward conversations would be better than three – or, you know, seven."

She moved for the door. Wesley saw her intention and put a hand on her shoulder. "No!" he said. "Tonks, you _cannot_ leave me here with these people."

"These people?" she repeated. "These people are your family."

"Not all. Most of them are simply associates of the Council and – well, of course, there has been a bit of intermarriage over the years, but – " He crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. "You're quite one to talk on that score. Some of your relatives could give mine more than a run for their money."

"Oh my God." Tonks' eyes widened. "There's not going to be anyone from _my_ family here, is there?"

"Well, I can't exactly see the Ted Tonkses of Maidenhead turning out for this sort of affair. And, as I recall, the Blacks are mostly in prison."

"Fortunately, but. . ." She shook her head. "There's Aunt Cissy."

"Oh no." Wesley shook his head firmly. "After last year's incident involving your Uncle Lucius and the punch bowl, Father has declared his home to be a Malfoy-free zone."

"Small favors," Tonks sighed. Now the butler had arrived to give the couple cold looks as he led them into the drawing room. Wesley offered his arm, and Tonks resignedly took it. "Though I'm honestly surprised Lucius and Narcissa would have showed up at a party with that many Muggles in the first place."

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley said indignantly. "This soiree will hold the cream of the Watchers' Council. I'd hardly call us –"

"A meddling confederacy of amateur sorcerers and overreaching librarians, operating without respect for tradition, bloodlines, or the correct regulation and propagation of magical standards and conduct?"

Wesley groaned. "Cornelius Fudge in last Thursday's _Daily Prophet,_. I heard." As he and Tonks approached the door, Wesley whispered. "When are they going to drive that useless hack out of office?"

"About the time your lot does the same to Quentin Travers?" The two exchanged a grin, but Tonks shook her head. "Face it, Wes, the Ministry is never going to take the Council seriously, no matter how many vampires Gilderoy Lockhart claims he killed." She froze at the door, and turned to Wesley in horror. "Oh, God – You don't suppose your father invited –"

"Think about it, darling. We still have time to make it to Spain."


End file.
